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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246938">The Zombie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorpunkwritings/pseuds/horrorpunkwritings'>horrorpunkwritings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Body Horror, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horror, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Mild Gore, Other, POV First Person, Queer Themes, Short Story, Zombie, Zombie hunting, this whole thing is just one big metaphor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:21:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorpunkwritings/pseuds/horrorpunkwritings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All through my life, something has been following me. I didn't know what it was and I only knew of its presence because of the disgusting smell it left behind. A smell that made me nauseous and never seemed to go away. For years, I had never seen what was following me. Until one day when I was 10 years old and saw it face-to-face, and continued to see more and more of them as the years went on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Mirror In Her Bedroom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I could smell it. The pungent stench, always there, intruding on my thoughts like someone breathing down my neck from behind me. It smelt like rotting cake and dead ants. Like millipedes and dust. Like old blood and long-dead flesh. Every breath I took overwhelmed my senses and brought me to the edge of nausea. </p><p>I could smell it when I was 10. At the times when I was supposed to be basking in the scent of her perfume and fruit-flavoured lip gloss, I was inhaling the stench of putrid, rotting meat. </p><p>Like almost every other time we had seen each other, our interactions had devolved from conversations, into wrestling each other. A habit that people often said was not ladylike. I had never been one to indulge in what people expected of me. And it seemed that I brought out a rougher, more boyish part of her that rarely showed itself in other company. So neither of us ever paid any attention to these comments.<br/>
We rolled around in each other's arms on the bed, a soft blanket under us, ornate pillows everywhere, and makeup and other bric-a-brac digging into our backs. Quiet yelps and sounds of exhaustion came from us as we switched positions, or came dangerously close to falling off the edge of the bed. </p><p>With all the strength my tiny body could muster, I rolled over and switched our positions so that she was lying on the bed, face-up, looking at me as I sat on her stomach. Her face was chubby (baby fat), and her cheeks were covered in rosy patches. Her eyelashes were long, and her eyebrows were perfectly sculpted, making her eyes stand out even more. She was naturally beautiful, and I don't think she realised it at the time. Her arms and legs were also chubby. That meant that sitting next to her or being in her arms was comfortable, as she was a direct juxtaposition to my frail frame. </p><p>Out of nowhere, I felt my body turn as cold as ice. It was as though all of the heating in the room had disappeared. I felt my fingers - which were placed on the bed, one hand on each side of her head, and covered by her long hair - become stiff. I felt my skin on my face tighten around my bones. I felt my brain pulse loudly in my head. </p><p>I sat back on my knees and took my hands away from next to her head. As I pulled them towards me, her hair fell through the gaps between my fingers. I paid extra special attention to the way it felt on my skin (as well as praying that I wouldn't get caught in a knot and accidentally pull her hair). </p><p>My hands hovered awkwardly near my hips. I looked down at them and watched as they turned a sickly yellow colour. My fingers became long and bony. My fingernails (despite already being incredibly short due to a nasty nail-biting habit, which I wouldn't manage to kick for another 5 or 6 years) shortened and turned a reddish-brown colour, reminiscent of old blood.  </p><p>I looked back up at her face with fear and met her familiar blue eyes. When we made eye contact, her face went from a slight from - "why have yous topped so suddenly?" look on her face, a "why do you look so frightened?" look - to a wide grin. Her eyes crinkled up, and her shimmery lips parted in a smile that reached her ears and showed her perfectly straight teeth. </p><p>I was so caught up in the expression on her face that I hadn't processed the fact that she was extending her arms and that her hands were coming straight towards me.<br/>
When I (eventually) noticed, my breathing stopped, and my heart starting beating faster and faster. Her hands made contact with my shoulders as she sat up, using the momentum to push me backwards off the bed and onto the floor. </p><p>With a small scream, I fell on my back and onto the mess on the floor. Toys dug into my spine, making my face scrunch up in discomfort. I watched as she leaned over the edge of the bed to look down at me. She had a small smile on her face as she made a nonchalant "pfft" noise, followed by a light giggle at the pitifulness of the position that I was in. </p><p>She climbed off the bed, swinging one leg after the other over the bed frame and onto the floor, methodically placing her feet among the mess. She made her way across the room, hopping and jumping onto clear spaces, and to the door, cracking it open slightly (just enough that she could squeeze through the gap). She threw a cheeky grin at me - a "gotcha" look - before walking out the door and shutting it behind her, leaving me in a heap at the foot of her bed. </p><p>And that was it. My breathing steadied, my brain stopped beating against my skull, and my face relaxed. The ever-present smell of death stopped intruding on me and slowly left my senses, allowing me to finally smell what lingered of her childish perfume. </p><p>I rubbed my hands over my face and felt that they were my own once again, no longer skinny and sickly. I put my arms by my side and pushed myself up on my hands, leaning against them as I looked around the room. </p><p>It was a disaster. It was as if a hurricane had ripped through it, taking everything off the shelves, all the clothes from her closet, all the objects from her desk, and threw them all onto the floor haphazardly. </p><p>I turned my head to look at a mirror that was on her floor. It was a square mirror with a white frame, about a foot tall and wide. In it, I could see the reflection of my head, torso, arms, and the top of my legs, cutting off at my bent knees.<br/>
My hair was sticking out in all directions. The gloss that she had messily applied to my lips had smeared across my mouth and cheeks. My clothes had become twisted around my body from rolling around.<br/>
I wiped my face with my shirt and fixed said shirt around my torso. I flattened my hair as best I could, leaning towards the mirror to get a better look. It was then that I noticed something moving in the background of my reflection. </p><p>A creature so disgusting and foul was standing behind me and looking directly into my eyes. Its skin was a greenish-yellow colour and was covered in sores which oozed blood and pus. Its eyeballs were a dark red colour with a small black dot in their centres. Its hair was grey and patchy fell at all different lengths, varying from ear length to shoulder.<br/>
It wore an ill-fitting shirt that hung off one of its bony shoulders and exposed more nasty sores. Its legs were barely covered by an extremely ripped pair of jeans that hung loosely around skinny legs and desperately tried to stay in place upon tiny hips. It did not wear shoes but instead had one a mismatched pair of socks. A black sock which reached the creature's knee, and a brown sock which sat in a miserable pile at its ankle. I could see a few toes poking out of small holes in the worn-out socks. I watched as they moved rhythmically, in a similar manner to the way one would tap their nails on a tabletop.<br/>
All of its clothes were splattered with a dark brown substance that I couldn't identify with certainty. I thought it could have been mud, or even worse, blood. </p><p>As I stared, the human-like beast raised its hand and waved by wiggling its fingers which were long and made of bone with chunks of skin clinging to them. I turned around to look at the wall that the zombie was standing against, but I saw nothing. The wall was blank. There was no evidence to suggest that anything had been standing there in the first place. </p><p>Keeping my back to the mirror, I slowly lifted myself up off of the floor, struggling to find a place to put my feet between the piles of toys, clothes, and bedding that we had thrown at each other.<br/>
I wobbled as I walked towards the door, looking back one last time at the mirror to see the wretched thing smiling at me. Its mouth was full of rotten teeth, which reminded me of my own teeth (which were quite crooked and often grew in the wrong place). Now even more disturbed, I quickly opened the door and turned off the light, erasing the foul creature from existence. </p><p>I left the room and closed the door, leaning against it and breathing heavily. I turned my head to see her standing at the end of the corridor expectantly. A look on her face that read "what took you so long?" as she extended her hand out to me. I smiled at her, relieved to see her after the horrifying encounter that I had just had, and reached out my own hand. I ran towards her, slotting our hands together. She grabbed my hand firmly and began to drag me through the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I sat at the top of the man-made mountain of rocks that separated a flat piece of concrete and flat ground covered in tanbark. Children played behind me on the trees, children played below me on the concrete, and children played on the rocks below me. </p>
<p>I had a large book sat on my lap, and I flicked through it lazily. I had read through the book countless times since the incident 2 years ago. The book was a collection of mythological creatures. I had pondered over every beast in there, comparing it to the thing I had seen in the mirror. Nothing came close to matching it, except for a zombie. <br/>I thought it was ridiculous. It was a book of mythological creatures. Zombies weren't real. I decided it was all in my head, a freak hallucination. I had hit my head, and it left me unstable, and I started hallucinating. That's what I had decided. </p>
<p>As I watched everyone else go about their days, I noticed a figure walking across the concrete and towards the stairs next to the rocks. <br/>His hair was clumpy, and resting over his face, covering it. He walked in short, quick steps. He kept his head down most of the time and only looked up to see where he was going. His hands were in his pants pockets, and his shoulders were raised to his ears. He made his way to the stairs and started slowly climbing them. He had gotten up about 5 steps before he stopped suddenly. He took one of his hands out of his pocket and rested it on the steel railing next to him and lifted his head. His head turned slowly to face in my direction. I held my breath, hoping that somehow that would stop him from seeing me. </p>
<p>His head made its way around, and he looked straight at me, not even stopping to glance at anyone else. I could not make much of what his face looked like, but I could tell that his skin was pale and patchy. </p>
<p>We stared at each other for a minute before his mouth slowly opened into a grin. He moved his body, so he was facing me. He put both hands on the railing and began to lift himself up onto his toes. <br/>Understanding that he was trying to climb over the rail and make his way towards me, I shot up out of my sitting position and began jumping down the rocks. <br/>I held my book against my chest as I frantically stepped on the rocks, hoping to God that I wouldn't trip and fall down them.<br/>When I reached the concrete, I turned around to look for the boy. He was still standing on the stairs and facing me. He had watched me as I panicked and raced down the rocks. I began to walk backwards away from him, wanting to keep him in my site.</p>
<p>I only turned back around when I could no longer see the menacing expression on the boy's face. I ran towards the large building that surrounded the concrete ground, noticing a small group of familiar people huddled underneath a metal staircase. <br/>I made my way over to them and sat down next to them. I turned around cautiously, only to see that the boy had disappeared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Just When I Thought I Was Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I stood in front of the window with my forehead pressed against the glass. I tapped my fingers against my leg to the beat of the song stuck in my head. I kicked the door frame lazily, kicking up dust with every movement, slowly covering my white socks with orange-grey dirt. My uniform was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. My shoes were too tight, and my wool jumper made my wrists itchy. Throughout the day, I was constantly adjusting my shirt, which somehow got bundled and twisted underneath my jumper.<br/>
I had been standing like this for what felt like 10 minutes. I was waiting for my friends to leave the building and come out and join me, but they were yet to come. The wind was strong that day, causing my hair to cover my face with every gust. </p><p>I could suddenly smell the familiar smell of blood and dirt. I immediately felt nauseous, and my legs started to shake and threatened to buckle underneath me. I felt hot breath on my neck, causing me to jerk my head to the side slightly, seeing a human silhouette out the corner of my eye. Calming down slightly, thinking that I was in no danger and that my friends had finally come and joined me, I turned around to face them. I immediately regretted it as I felt the urge to vomit after seeing who was standing there. </p><p>It was the boy, the same boy that I had seen on the steps just days earlier. Only, he looked even more wrong. Now that he was close up, I could see every detail of his face. His hair was brown, short, and curly. His eyes were yellow and were staring at me intensely, looking me up and down slowly, as if he were eating me piece by piece. He stared back into my eyes and held his hand out to me. Despite knowing that I shouldn't, I found myself reaching out to take it, slowly shaking it up and down. He smiled and grabbed my hand harder and began to violently shake, sending pain up my arm and into my shoulder. </p><p>I stared down at our hands. The boy's hand was incredibly pale. The nails on his stubby fingers were short, sharp, and yellow with blood coating the cuticles. His fingers pressed into my hand, leaving white marks in my skin. </p><p>I looked back up at his face as his mouth curled into a smile. His lips were so chapped that I feared if they got any wider that the skin would crack and blood would leak out of them. </p><p>He turned around, still holding onto my hand, and started walking quickly. I was pulled up from my leaning position against the glass and dragged behind him. My feet fumbled, and I desperately tried to find stable footing as the boy in front of my stumbled violently on his own uneven legs.<br/>
My ankles threatened to roll as I ran across stones and pebbles which were strewn across the ground. The concrete under my feet sent pain up my legs with every step I took. </p><p>The boy stopped suddenly, and I had to stop myself from crashing into him as I was still unstable.<br/>
I finally slammed my foot into the ground, which brought out a hiss of pain as my shoes had little to no support.  I stopped struggling and leaned over to catch my breath. </p><p>The boy released my hand, and I grabbed it with my other, rubbing it in hopes of relieving some of the pain. I looked up from my hands to see where he had taken me. It was similar to the place we had started, we had not travelled far. We stood next to one of the many doors of the building. There was a large rock at my feet, the same kind that the mountain was made of, upon it sat another boy. </p><p>The new boy did not look any older than me, but I could tell that he was much taller, even though he was huddled in on himself. He had short, curly hair, similar to the nasty looking boy next to me, except his hair was blond.<br/>
He looked up at me and stared into my eyes. He had the same expression that I did, eyes wide open, cheeks red, and lips trembling in fear. </p><p>He turned his head to look at the other boy, and I noticed a large bruise with bloody marks on his neck. The bruise was yellow and green. Blue veins popped out around the scabs and crawled up his neck, sneaking just above his jaw. </p><p>I stepped backwards in an attempt to escape, but the brown-haired boy's arm shot out, and he placed a hand on my back, stopping me immediately.<br/>
Once he knew I was not making any more moves to leave, he moved his arm back down to his side and made to sit down next to the blond boy on the rock. He looked over to him, placing one of his pale hands on the other boy's almost as pale knees, and using his other hand to push his yellow curls away from his face.<br/>
The poor boy tensed up and turned his head slightly towards me, looking at me helplessly tears forming in his eyes. </p><p>The gross boy, who I was starting to realise looked eerily similar to the Zombie I had seen in the mirror, opened his mouth to speak. A line of black liquid poured from the corner of his mouth (and landed on his pants) as it opened and closed, "Don't you want to stay with us?" the black sludge in his mouth causing his words to slur slightly.<br/>
My eyes darted between the zombie boy and the blond boy, who was hunching into himself more, becoming smaller and smaller by the minute. My brain was screaming at me to run and never look back. The look on the boy's face said the same, his eyes spilling over with tears as he shook his head frantically at me. </p><p>The zombie boy held out his hand out to me again. My eyes became unfocused, and my thoughts became blurry, the screaming in my brain now sounding like it was coming from miles away. I slowly lifted my arm and slid my hand into his, and my head nodded involuntarily. The boy grinned his skin-splitting grin. Through my blurred vision, I thought I saw the dry skin on his lips crack and leak a line of putrid red blood from his mouth and down his chin, dripping onto the ground, staining the gravel at our feet.</p>
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